Now he could accept his fate. Hildigrim was waiting on the other side, and others too, no doubt. He was doing this for them. Like so much else in this world, he believed in what he could never know. Had he lived, perhaps Hildigrim could have initiated him into its wisdom, explained the paradoxes that defied his understanding. In the end it was simply a matter of trust. He trusted Hildigrim, Sonya Vasileyevna, even Giacinta far more than himself. And the small part of him that continued to deny it, that screamed out for him to fight, to resist, would simply have to be ignored until—
With a fiery hiss the door burst open, shards bouncing off the walls and ceiling. Lord Gramsteed strode through the rubble, followed by a dozen guards and a hand-picked cadre of sorcerers. Hildigrim gave an exasperated sigh and signaled to the concubines.
“Remove them—quickly!” he said.
The concubines flung themselves at the new arrivals, blades flashing against their pikes and staffs. Several guards and a few concubines fell to their knees in the first melee, but the battle raged on. Astrid tried to rouse Turold to help or escape, but he was dazed, rooted to the spot by the lure of the portal. He looked directly into it, and nothing she could say or do could distract him. She saw nothing inside, just shifting patterns of dark and light, and not Hildigrim or anyone else.
Or did she? The longer she stared, the more a face seemed to peer out of the depths. The eyes struck her first, and then, a moment later, the curve of the cheeks, the smile, the voice…
My dearest, you must fire the lungwort. Trust in our plan. Perform the sacrifice.
The phrase suddenly hit her with astonishing clarity. Lungwort: a plant with a creeping rootstock producing bristly stems and funnel-shaped flowers. She had to memorize them all in her youth, as every weed and flower formed the grammar of spellcraft. Over and over again, she drew the runes that signified each plant, and the runes of Lungwort flashed out in her mind. They were the same runes, minus one, that spelled the name Turold.
Had her Mistress always known? Is that why she accepted Hildigrim’s choice of apprentice? To save her life? She suddenly felt the truth of it: Hildigrim was willing to kill his apprentice, while Sonya Vasileyevna, for all her ambition, was not.
While the sorcerers and concubines fought and tumbled across the floor, she drew her own blade and held it before Turold, who didn’t flinch, didn’t even acknowledge her presence. Is this why they were thrown together? So she could be at his side, ready to dispatch him when no one else could? Her Mistress trusted her, that much was clear; what was less clear was how much she trusted herself. Could she actually do it? Kill Turold for the good of the realm? She looked back to the portal, where Sonya Vasilyevna’s face called out to her, gave her strength.
I’ll always be with you, my sweet. You were my last and greatest apprentice.
“Yes, Mistress,” she said. “I won’t fail you.”
But Turold was gone. Hildigrim had wrenched him away from the battle, which was spilling ever-closer to the portal. Hildigrim dragged him into the pool, protecting him with a sword; as she tried to approach, he waded in deeper.
“No–it can’t be you! You’re a Touchstone, true, but you’ve come too late. Keep them away!”
She turned to protect Turold and found herself face-to-face with Lord Gramsteed, his cloak torn from tussling with portal-mad courtesans. The battle, it seemed, was over; the courtesans were splayed out on the floor, along with a smattering of the guards and sorcerers. But they remained sufficiently outnumbered.
“I’d advise you to step aside, Astrid,” he said.
“Where’s my Mistress?”
“I tried to reason with her, but she took poison. She said, the end has come, and I rush headlong to meet it. Her exact words.”
“No…”
“I invite you to inspect the body when we return. Our business is almost finished here. The only question now is whether Hildigrim will fall on his sword…or gulp his own vial of poison.”
“There’s no poison in the world that can kill me,” he scoffed, holding his blade against Turold. “I’m stronger than Hildigrim ever was. You’ve lost, Lord Gramsteed. But by losing you’ve saved the world. It’s not the end you feared.”
“I’m afraid you underestimate me, as the other Hildigrim once did. You see, I’ve read the Codex,” he said, advancing to the edge of the pool. “I can dispel a shadow like you into the void. I’ve already closed the portals. Not even your god can stand in my way.”
Turold flickered to some shade of awareness. The Codex—yes, that’s how he gained control of his Familiar. He tried to reach out to him, but the connection was lost; perhaps Lord Gramsteed no longer found him useful. He felt completely alone now, with only his fate to guide him. Nevertheless, he was ready. Whatever followed, he gladly gave his life to reach the other side of the portal, to greet his Master with open arms.
Hildigrim loosened his grip on Turold, his focus intent on Lord Gramsteed. He could feel the Shadow preparing to strike.
“The Codex is merely a key, not the door itself, not its secrets,” Hildigrim said, sourly. “If I could show you, you wouldn’t try to stop me…you would embrace me as a brother and whisper thanks. I know, because I was once like you, we all were. Open your eyes, Nevil!”
“How dare you?” he snapped, falling back. “You think you know me? You’re only a shadow of a shadow—a remembrance of a thought! Not him—not Hildigrim! The man you hold in your arms is more like Hildigrim than you’ll ever be.”
Hildigrim laughed, stepping out of the pool.
“I’m the very reflection of Hildigrim…the reflection that wanted to kill you.”
“And you’ll fail the same as him,” Lord Gramsteed replied.
Hildigrim threw himself on Lord Gramsteed and the two grappled beside the pool, blue flames surrounding them and lapping the ceiling. Turold watched in a daze, then saw Astrid, similarly dazed, wade into the pool beside him.
“You have to finish it…you have to kill me,” he said.
“I know,” she said.
She raised her dagger in a somnambulistic trance, but there it remained, hovering in space; it never came down. He watched her in confusion as her stare went from dreamy to utterly blank. The Astrid he knew was no longer there. Something had wiped it clean. He looked to the portal and saw a face emerging…not his Master this time, but smaller, more feminine. A mask with only two eyes.
“Didn’t I tell you…you’re the one who could do what Sir Otrygg couldn’t,” she said, Astrid’s eyes flickering to life.
“Giacinta?”
“I’m no longer her, whoever she was. You have to accept that.”
“But it’s all I know,” he said.
“It’s what you made me. A woman with her own face, her own dreams; and they were beautiful, Turold.”
“You made me believe in you. I still do…I still think you’re in there,” he said, reaching out to her.
“But I no longer belong to you. Like the wind itself, I can’t be contained in a bottle. I am a vehicle of fate, nothing more.”
“And I follow the same fate,” he said, drawing his blade. “I understand now.”
“No, you can’t understand–not even your Master could,” she said, sadly. “It would take so many lifetimes, Turold. If you could see that, then you would go joyously…then you would take my hand.”
“But I do—I do accept it,” he said, as their hands met.
“I know you want to. You want more than anything for us to be together. But like that…it can never be.”
“Then show me!”
“I came to take you, Turold,” she said, holding him close. “To spill your blood, to bring my god into existence. But now…I see with those eyes, the eyes of the mask you gave me. I see you as you are right now, the way I’ll always remember you. It’s not the same.”
“But nothing has changed! You said it—I’m the Touchstone! It’s what my Master wanted!”
“And what he could never do. No, not him, or Sir Otrygg, or even Sonya Vasilyevna.”
“It’s only a sacrifice—just a single life! Just my life.”
“And what was mine worth? I was nothing—a faceless, nameless wraith; and yet you saved me. That’s what you taught me, the worth of a single human life. Why that life matters…why you protect the ones you love.”
“But you have to kill me. And it’s not death—it’s so much more. Let me go!” he insisted.
“I already have,” she said, leaning close. “I will return to the shadows and wait for the portals to open. Whether now or in a thousand years, it’s all the same. And I will dream of what you taught me, knowing that you’re here, at peace.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I’ve made my choice—and yes, it was mine to make. The others agree…and one day, so will you.”
She kissed him gently, her eyes flashing into his own; Giacinta’s eyes.
“I envy her, your life together. But I would never take that away.”
“Giacinta, the portals! The sacrifice!”
“You’ve already made it,” she said, kissing his head. “Now go…you have another fate, another life.”
“Giacinta! Wait!”
The portal faded into a reflection of himself holding Astrid, whose head slumped forward, fast asleep.
